


Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Memories, Photographs, The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Travel Fix-It, stan and eddie live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: The deadlights spit Richie out further than he expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is this necessary? No. Am I a little peeved there aren't a lot of fics where Stan lives too? Yes. Does this make any sense? Probably not. Am I happy you took the time to read this? Heck yeah.
> 
> Thank you for reading and leave me a comment if you can :)
> 
> Enjoy!!

The deadlights caught him.

In retrospect, it _was_ Richie’s fault, he had been running his mouth, but in his defense Pennywise was a little bitch. Like a typical bully, It could dish it out but It couldn’t take it.

The deadlights caught him, and Richie saw everything. He saw Eddie throwing the fence post at Pennywise. Heard him scream, “Beep beep motherfucker!” Richie was proud of him for that; using their one phrase to shut him up against something that actually deserved it.

He saw Eddie hovering over him, close enough to kiss if Richie hadn’t been such a coward, smiling and claiming he killed It.

He saw him get impaled by that giant fucking spider, right through the chest. It wasn’t a wound he’d bounce back from, but Richie had been in denial. He couldn’t lose Eddie; he just got him back.

He saw them kill Pennywise. Crush It’s heart. Gone and hopefully forgotten like the assface It was. _Goodriddence motherfucker. Sayonara asshole. Don’t bother calling, Richie Tozier wasn’t going to answer._

He saw Eddie’s body.

Dead.

Gone.

He’d been talking beforehand, told Richie to help the others. He said he’d be there when he got back, but he was not. He was gone.

Gone.

Richie spiraled. Eddie couldn’t be gone. Not Eddie. Hyperactive, bitchy, loud Eddie. He wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be gone.

They left him behind.

They left him behind, and Richie would have stayed too had it not been for his friends. He would have stayed because Eddie shouldn’t have been alone. He didn’t deserve to be alone.

They shouldn’t have left him.

Richie hated himself just a little bit more for leaving him.

He hated his friends for dragging him away.

He hated Pennywise for taking Eddie away from him.

He hated.

He hated everyone but Eddie.

He could never hate Eddie.

They won, but it cost him everything.

* * *

The deadlights got him, but they hadn’t kept him.

He was suddenly free, standing with his friends, but he wasn’t 40 anymore. He was 13 again and Pennywise was dragging Itself through the trapdoor. He shook his head, frantically reaching out to touch Bill’s wrist. “He’s not dead.”

“W-what?” Bill stumbled back, his wide eyes jumping between Richie and the pit Pennywise disappeared into.

“He’s not gone.” Richie hurried forward, scrambling over the lip of the pit. He felt like Mike, the older Mike, as he began climbing down, listening to the others hurry forward to try and stop him, but he dodged their hands and kept climbing.

He wasn’t surprised when they followed him down after a few seconds hesitation. Of course they were going to follow him down; they only leave behind those who they cannot save.

Bill and Mike are in the lead. Bev and Ben are right behind them. And Stan and Eddie are the last two down.

Stan and Eddie.

Alive.

13 and alive and having no clue what their futures hold.

Richie won’t think about that now. They have a clown to destroy.

It didn’t take nearly as long as when they were adults to kill It. It had already been weak thanks in part to the friendly neighborhood Losers’ Club. Together they crush Its heart, all seven of them this time. _Wham bam thank you ma’am, the wicked clown of Derry was dead._

The place started falling down around them and they all began running. This time, Richie made sure Eddie got out alive. He stuck close to him, one hand wrapped tightly around his hand, tugging him along.

No one was being left behind.

Not again.

Once outside they stop in a tight group, breathing heavily, watching their nightmare literally collapse right in front of them. _Property values might even go up now that that eyesore is gone_, Richie thought, fighting his hysteria.

He caught Eddie’s eyes, swallowing heavily, and took a step forward to hug him tightly, but everything shifted and he felt like he was being hurtled through space.

* * *

His eyes snapped open, and he squinted at the blurry, green numbers on his alarm clock. It was half-past 3. He reached out, groping around for his glasses. He put them on, sitting up slowly, wincing when he felt several bones crack. Right away he could tell he’s 40 again. The pain between his shoulder blades was back and his knee reminded him that college Richie should have never been allowed to drink alcohol.

He rubbed the back of his head, surveying the bedroom.

It was different than the one he had in his apartment. A quick peek showed him higher ceilings, more windows, hardwood floor. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, but that wasn’t uncommon. There had been several nights, in several cities, where he would wake up in a stranger’s bed.

Usually hungover.

Most of his partners were women, his attempts to feel something with them always unsuccessful, but there had been the occasional guy. He had felt more with the guys, but he’d been too afraid to really look into why.

Regardless of how he felt, none of them ever filled that familiar hole in his chest.

Not until Eddie.

Seeing Eddie again, he felt like he could exhale after holding his breath for so long, but he wasn’t going to think about that. Not right now. He had to figure out where he was and how far it was from either his apartment or his hotel room.

He rubbed his face, the familiar stubble rough against his fingertips. The lack of a hangover baffled him, surely he’d remember this place had he not been drinking, but he was still drawing a blank.

He frowned.

He heard someone move next to him and murmur softly. The voice sounded masculine. Another guy. He wondered if he felt anything concrete with this one; probably not.

Dark hair poked out from underneath the blanket, the guy curled over onto his side and facing away from Richie. He wondered if he looked anything like Eddie.

Eddie.

Why did he keep thinking about Eddie?

Memories flooded through him, rapid fire. Mike calling him, returning to Derry, facing the one fear he had hidden so deeply in himself that he refused to admit why he never felt anything with any of the women he slept with. Getting caught in the deadlights, Eddie saving him and getting impaled in the process. The Losers killing Pennywise. Eddie dying…

Eddie dying.

Eddie had died.

But he wasn’t really dead.

The deadlights had spit Richie back out, but 27 years into the past. They had destroyed Pennywise as kids, ripped It’s heart out and crushed it. Made It hurt like it had made them hurt all those years ago. All of them. All 7. Mike and Bill. Bev and Ben. Stan and Eddie.

Stan.

Eddie.

Neither one were dead.

Unless that had all been a dream. A cruel joke. Perhaps he was still stuck in the deadlights, and this was Pennywise’s finally hurrah. Fucking with Richie, making him believe his best friend and the love of his life hadn’t died. Convincing him that he’d somehow gotten shunted back in time so he could save them.

It was possible.

He couldn’t remember much from what happened after they escaped Niebolt, and what he could remember kept wavering back and forth.

One moment the house was in ruins, dust still settling in the air, the seven of them huddled together too shocked to celebrate properly. The next they were all standing outside, staring at the completely intact house, debating what to do next. The decrepit place towering over them, a reminder that they would forget the moment they left town.

Everything else from his childhood was muddled. Memories he still had to sift through, things he’d been forced to forget but had been slowly coming back the longer he stayed in Derry. A lifetime taken from him, and all it took to get it back was one phone call.

Thinking about his childhood gave him a headache, so he sought out some more recent memories, ones Derry and its curse couldn’t take away, but those had been just as bad. His adult life was a mess.

He remembered a deep pit of loneliness. City after city, fan after fan, but never any friends. He had contacts, people he knew, but never someone who he could call at midnight and shoot the shit.

No Stan. No Bill and Mike. No Bev and Ben. No Eddie.

No Eddie.

He looked back down at the guy lying next to him, listening to him breathe. Was he a light sleeper? Richie was about to find out.

He carefully crept out of the bed, looking around for his phone or his clothes. Preferably both. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d cut and run; wouldn’t be the last either. He found his jeans crumpled on the floor, his shirt hanging off a desk chair. He figured his shoes and his phone must be in another room.

He heard the guy move and froze next to the door, clutching his clothes to his chest. He listened, expecting something more to happen, but the guy continued to sleep. Breathing a sigh of relief, Richie opened the door and ducked out of the room.

He shuffled down the hallway, pulling his shirt over his head and knocking his glasses askew. He fixed them, brushing his fingers through his hair. He stopped long enough to put his jeans back on, looking around for his shoes and his phone.

His phone was sitting on the kitchen counter, plugged into a charger. Nice guy, letting him use his charger. He moved towards the phone, stepping around the island, and picked it up. He unlocked the phone and nearly dropped it on the floor.

“What?”

His wallpaper was a photo of a shirtless, sleepy Eddie flipping off the camera. Curious, Richie pressed the side button and the screen went black. He hit it again, taking a step back when the lock screen lit up.

“Okay. Okay, so. Okay.” Richie set his phone down, the screen going black again, and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. He studied the phone for a long moment before reaching out and pressing the side button again.

The screen lit up.

He studied the photo. It’s obvious he took it, his left arm extended out and the angle just a bit off. His other arm was wrapped around Eddie’s shoulder, his face turned toward him, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips pressed to his cheek in a sloppy kiss. Eddie looked as if he’d been halfway through rolling his eyes, but he still had a fond smile on his face

An echo of a memory floated to the surface.

During Ben and Bev’s last visit they’d all gone out drinking at a local bar. Too loud music, rivaling the game on the screen, had them all yelling over each other. Halfway through the night, Eddie had rolled his eyes at Richie’s lockscreen. Richie couldn’t remember what the old photo had been, but he changed it to this one because Eddie wouldn’t shut up about it.

_“Your photography skills suck,” Eddie said after he saw the new photo._

_“Is that the only thing that sucks?” Richie waggled his eyebrows, grinning._

_Fighting a smile, Eddie shook his head. “Fuck you, dude.”_

_“Is that an offer?”_

_“We’re sitting right here, you know?” Ben said, but he and Bev looked amused._

He shook himself free from the memory, but it still lingered in the back of his mind. That never happened. Or had it? Shaking his head, Richie unlocked his phone again. His thumb hovered over his contacts icon for a long moment before he opened it.

He scrolled through the names, looking for Eddie’s, slowing down over Ben, Bev, and Bill. It’s not unlikely to have them in his phone. Not after what they’d been through; he’d be surprised if he didn’t get their numbers.

Eddie’s name jumped out at him immediately. There were three heart emojis after his name, neon pink bright enough to burn a hole in Richie’s eyes. He knew he’d done it to annoy Eddie, riling him up one of his favorite past times. He wondered if Eddie was even awake.

Before he could chicken out, he called Eddie. He jumped when something buzzed behind him and he turned to see another phone he’d missed shaking on the counter. Furrowing his brow, his cellphone pressed to his ear, Richie stepped towards it.

His own mug flashed back at him; his head was tilted back, arms stretched out on either side of him, mouth hanging open. He’s either asleep or faking it. Behind him was a large window, an airplane just visible in the background.

Richie hung up, staring at the phone. Why was Eddie’s cell phone here? Better question, was this Eddie’s apartment? Even better question, how could he not know he’d been in Eddie’s apartment?

Slowly, he pivoted on his heel and looked down the hall towards the bedroom. He wondered if it would be weird to ask Eddie. If that man had in fact been Eddie. And holy shit he might have slept with Eddie.

His muddled memories were really fucking with him, making him question everything that had been happening since he woke up. He wondered again if this was Pennywise and It’s deadlights. Any second now Zombie Eddie could burst out of the bedroom and Superman sprint at Richie, and he’d either be shunted out of whatever hellhole this was into a world without Eddie or be killed on the spot.

He held his breath, waiting. A moment passed followed by a second one. By the third he was fairly certain he was okay for now, and he exhaled.

Needing a distraction, he opened the gallery on his phone and began scrolling through photos. Most of them were of Eddie. Eddie at the beach, slathered in enough sunscreen to make his skin shine. Eddie asleep on the couch, one curled hand resting on his chest, the other hanging off the side. Eddie holding his hand out, trying to block the camera, laughing. A candid shot of Eddie sitting on a park bench, one arm resting against the back, watching the sunset. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Richie appeared in a few. Most of them badly taken selfies. Eddie was right, he probably should work on his photography skills.

The Losers were all over the rest. Bev and Ben with their cheeks pressed together, smiling brightly at the camera. Mike wearing a ragged baseball cap, the brim over his eyes, a lazy smile on his face, a beer in his hand. Bill and a woman Richie recognized from one of his movies (he suspected she might be Bill’s wife) sitting together in a diner booth, sharing a plate of fries. There was also another man; his arms were crossed and he looked mildly exasperated.

At first Richie didn’t recognize him, but when it clicked he blinked away a few tears. There was only one person who could ever look at Richie like that; had been looking at him like that since they were four years old.

Stanley.

If this really were a trick, Richie was going to rip Pennywise’s arm off again and beat It to death with it. He had Eddie and Stanley back, alive and well, and the idea of them both being ripped away from him again left an icy pit in his stomach.

He debated calling Stanley just to hear his voice, but decided against it (it’s definitely late wherever he ended up). Perhaps later, if this didn’t all turn out to be a dream. Or Pennywise’s Zombie Eddie didn’t murder him first.

He crept back down the hallway, noticing the photos on the wall he’d missed earlier. Most were copies of older photos, but there were a few that looked recent.

One of the older photos was a group shot of the Losers when they were teens, standing in front of the tree behind Bill’s house. Bev stood between Bill and Ben, her arms casually draped over their shoulders, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Mike stood next to Bill, grinning wide, while Stanley hovered behind Ben, his head in his hands. He’s most likely reacting to Richie and Eddie, front and center, poking at each other.

Another group shot looked as if they were a little older, perhaps freshmen in college. They were sitting around a shitty hatchback. Mike and Bill sat on the hood, their feet brushing the ground. Bev and Ben leaned against the driver side door, his arm around her, her head resting against his chest. Richie sat between Stanley and Eddie on the ground, but he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was staring fondly at the side of Eddie’s face.

The last group photo they looked much older, probably in their late 20’s. Beverly was wearing a wedding dress, the guys were in suits, and it was clear they probably weren’t sober. Richie had lost his tie at some point and the top two buttons were open on his shirt. He was hanging off Eddie, both arms draped around his shoulders. Eddie had stolen his glasses and had them on upside down, his own tie tied around his head. Stanley and Mike had their heads together, giggling at Bill’s over exaggerated pose. They all surrounded Bev and Ben, cake frosting in both of their hair, empty wine glasses held in the air.

Each photo brought back flashes of memories. Ben’s new camera’s timer going off before they were ready. Mike’s grandpa agreeing to take a picture of them in front of his grandson’s car before he left for Florida. The wedding photographer shaking his head and laughing as he took their drunken photo.

The rest of the photos were random. Richie and Stan in Stan’s dorm room, playing a game on Richie’s Gameboy. Another of Richie and Stan, most likely from his wedding, smiling broadly at the camera. A prom photo of just the boys doing dumb poses, most likely taken by Bev. Richie on stage at his first comedy show. Eddie on his college graduation day, clinging to Richie’s back, his diploma crinkled in his hand. New memories, each one slowly returning to him one photograph at a time.

Richie smiled at the photos. He hoped he wasn’t dreaming, these new memories were so much more pleasant than the life he had been living prior to reconnecting with the Losers.

The final photograph caught him off guard. It’s the most recent one, couldn’t be more than a few years old. It’s just him and Eddie, kissing in the entryway of one of those Vegas wedding chapels under a banner that said JUST MARRIED in golden letters.

Richie staggered back, leaning heavily against the wall. The memory came to him fast, faster than the others, and he pushed his glasses onto his head as he covered his eyes with his hands.

He’d been doing a few shows in Vegas, and Eddie had taken some time off of work to tag along. They hadn’t been officially engaged, neither one of them even discussed the prospect of getting married, but when they walked past the chapel they both stopped, staring at it.

_“I mean it wouldn’t be right. Not having the others there,” Eddie said, reading Richie’s mind in that weird way he’d always been able to._

_“And it’s not like we’re engaged or anything.” He’d thought about it, once or twice, but never seriously._

_“Right, right. Besides Richie Tozier making an honest man out of me? Never gonna happen.” Eddie grinned when Richie met his gaze, narrowing his eyes._

_“You wanna get married?”_

_“Are you offering?”_

_Richie didn’t verbally respond, taking Eddie’s hand instead and walking towards the chapel. This wasn’t the first time they’d done something impulsive, neither of them were the epitome of rational thinkers, but he’d been in love with Eddie for over 20 years._

_He used to deny and deny and deny his feelings until he was blue in the face, and probably would have kept denying them had Eddie not made the first move in his dormitory when they were far enough away from their hometown to not give a damn._

_They belonged together; Derry’s deep-seated homophobia be damned. Doing this, even if it wasn’t planned, was a no brainer._

Richie dragged his hands down his face, covering his mouth, and stared at the blurry photo. He married Eddie. At least, the Richie in that photo married Eddie, but assuming that this was his reality now then that meant he married Eddie.

They were married.

Like really married.

For real.

_Holy dicks_, Richie thought, sagging against the wall.

He married Eddie.

He willed himself not to get his hopes up. He had to make sure this was real. He wasn’t even wearing a wedding ring, but that could be easily explained away. Either he, or other Richie (were they the same person) took it off before bed or they weren’t following that tradition. It was the twenty-first century, couples didn’t always wear wedding rings.

Probably.

He hadn’t really noticed.

It didn’t help that they fought an actual alien clown that had no problem fucking with them. There was a fifty-fifty shot that this wasn’t real.

Maybe he should talk to Eddie.

Richie fixed his glasses and slowly walked back towards the bedroom. He carefully pushed the door open but didn’t step inside the room. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, crossing his arms, and just watched Eddie.

He had rolled over onto Richie’s side of the bed, his arms curled around his pillow. He’d always been a bed hog, even when they were kids, and it was nice to see things hadn’t changed. He had also been notorious for getting tangled up in the blankets and this time was no different.

With a fond smile, Richie crossed the room and attempted to help Eddie before he woke up in a panic. It wouldn’t be the first time. The memories themselves were a bit fuzzy, but he could recall a time when Eddie woke up flailing around, screaming about being trapped, and it had taken nearly getting kicked in the nose for Richie to help him. Another time he flailed so hard he fell off the bed.

He managed to free Eddie of the tangled mess without waking him, but he accidentally knocked his hip into the nightstand backing away and Eddie snorted awake, sitting up.

“Hello?” he looked around, wild eyed, and turned to look up at Richie. “What are you doing?” he asked, running a hand through his messy hair.

Richie froze, words escaping him as he tried to find something to say. It was one thing to see Eddie, but to be able to speak to him after watching him die. It was a little overwhelming and he struggled not to start crying.

“You okay?” Eddie reached out to touch his wrist, frowning.

“Yeah.” Richie’s voice broke and he had to look away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Hey.”

Richie heard movement from behind him, and he felt Eddie grab his hand and gently tug at it, trying to get him to turn around. He went willingly, pulling Eddie into a hug and burying his face in his hair.

“Okay.” Arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly. “You have another nightmare?”

Richie hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I can’t remember it,” he lied pressing a kiss into his hair, “but if I do you’ll be the first one I’ll tell.”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. He released Richie, leaning back as far as he possibly could while still being held, and looked up at him curiously. “"You sure you're okay?"

Richie nodded.

"If you're sure." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing over his shoulder at the alarm clock. "You gonna come back to bed or are you up for the day?”

Richie followed his gaze, looking at the glowing alarm clock. It was almost 4:30. He could stay up and have Eddie answer all of his questions or they could go back to bed. Settling his nerves was tempting, but on the off chance that this really was a cruel hallucination at least he’d get to spend a few hours curled up in bed with Eddie.

He chose that option, letting Eddie go and shucking off his jeans. He didn’t respond to the scoff when he kicked them into a corner, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face either. Typical Eddie.

He took his glasses off, placing them gently on the nightstand, spotting the missing wedding rings lying in a change bowl next to the lamp. So maybe they did follow that tradition after all; interesting.

Together they crawled back into bed, and Richie curled around Eddie, pulling him into his chest. “Is this okay, Eds?”

Eddie chuckled softly, tilting his head back so he could see him, the fondness in his eyes causing Richie’s heart to skip a beat. “We’ve been together for twenty years. If this wasn’t okay, I would’ve told you by now.”

Richie nodded. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

He shrugged, closing his eyes, and pressed his face into Eddie’s shoulder blades. He fell asleep to the sound of Eddie’s soft breathing.

* * *

When Richie awoke hours later, the spot next to him was empty and cool, and he started to panic. Had last night really been a dream? Had Eddie never been here? Was Pennywise lurking in the corner, watching every move he made, waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump out and destroy him all over again?

He pulled the covers over his head, curling into a ball. What had he been thinking? Believing any of that had been real? He never got what he wanted, hadn’t for as long as he could remember. What made him think last night had been any different?

He jumped when the door swung open, but he didn’t dare move. If Pennywise really was here to kill him, he’d make himself an easy target. What’s the point of living if he couldn’t see Eddie ever again?

“Hey, you okay?”

“Eddie?”

Richie risked peeking out from under his blanket, his eyes widening when he saw Eddie’s blurry form hovering over him, chewing on his bottom lip. He looked worried, and he reached out to touch Richie’s forehead with the back of his hand.

“Are you getting sick? Was last night’s nightmare actually a fevered dream? This is why I told you to get a flu shot.”

“I’m not sick,” Richie said, brushing off his hand before he could start to enjoy the touch and pulling the covers over his head. “I’m…”

He was what?

Panicking because he couldn’t figure out if this was all some very vivid hallucination brought on by an alien clown, that may or may not be dead, hoping for Richie to let his guard down so It could sink Its teeth into his neck.

Afraid to get his hopes up that he finally got his shit together and married the love of his life on the off chance that this really was all a trick, and his final moments would most definitely be Zombie Eddie murdering him like he felt he deserved.

Freaking out because if this wasn’t a dream this was his new reality, and he only had a handful of memories he had managed to trigger last night to confirm it. And the one person he could confide in might not believe him, but even if he did how could he bring it up without sounding like a crazy person.

All of the above?

“You’re what?” When Richie didn’t answer, he heard Eddie start to grumble. There was some shuffling, and the blankets are suddenly pulled away just enough for Eddie to join him; his hair still damp from his shower. He moved around until he was lying on his side, resting his head on the same pillow as Richie, and said, “Is this how you plan to spend your entire weekend?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” Richie retorted but his attempt at flirting fell flat. He wanted this to be real so bad, but he knew what happened when anyone let their guard down; especially after everything they’ve been through.

“Hey.” Eddie shuffled closer to him, his hair brushing against Richie’s forehead. “You sure you’re okay? Did that nightmare have anything to do with…?” he trailed off, his shoulders tensing, and Richie instinctively reached for him to offer comfort, grabbing his hand between both of his and squeezing. Lowering his voice, Eddie said, “You know It’s dead, right? We killed It.”

“Did we?” Richie forced out before he could stop himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Where is this coming from, Rich? You were the one who said It wasn’t dead. You lead us down into that cavern. Remember?”

He nodded frantically, refusing to open his eyes. He did remember that, but he also remembered not following Pennywise down into It’s lair. He remembered It coming back 27 years after they fought It the first time. He remembered It taunting them about Stan, and It impaling Eddie through the chest.

Two separate timelines, but only one was his true reality. He knew the one he wanted, but what he wanted meant nothing in the long run.

Everything was a muddled mess.

Eddie cupped his face with his free hand, pulling their foreheads together, and whispered, “Talk to me.”

“You might not believe me.”

“Me? Not believe you? Look, dude, you’re a shitty liar…”

“Am not.”

“Bullshit.”

Richie snorted softly but sobered up quickly, taking a deep breath. “Have you ever wondered? Have you ever wondered if this, all of this, was fake? Like It, It’s fucking with us?”

Eddie pulled back, dropping his hand from Richie’s face. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m not-” Richie held onto his other hand, needing the contact. “I have to tell you something, and I just. I need you to listen and believe me.”

“I already told you..”

“Eds, please.”

Eddie sighed. “Okay, I’m listening.”

It didn’t take nearly as long as Richie had hoped, and he skipped over the whole Eddie and Stan dying thing, but he recapped the first two times they fought Pennywise. When he finished, it’s too quiet and Richie cracked open an eye to gauge Eddie’s reaction.

He was chewing on the inside of his cheek (Richie nearly broke out in hysterics when he realized it was the same one Henry Bowers stabbed), his expression hard to read. He mulled over the story for a full minute before he spoke.

“I have a few questions.”

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but okay.”

Ignoring him, Eddie said, “Number one, are you suggesting you time traveled?”

“What? Eds, how does that possibly…?”

Eddie waved his hand. “Just answer the question. Are you suggesting you time traveled?”

“I mean… maybe?” Richie admitted, wondering why that hadn’t occurred to him last night.

Oh, right, he’d been totally freaking out.

“Alright. Number two, we forgot everything? Like everything?” The _even us_ was left unsaid.

“It appears so.”

“Okay, that’s fucked up.” Eddie chewed on his cheek again, absentmindedly nodding. “Like really fucked up. An entire town erasing, what, 20-ish years worth of memories?” He shook his head. “Totally fucked up.”

“We’ve established how fucked up it is, Eddie.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to understand,” Eddie retorted, gesturing wildly, narrowly avoiding hitting Richie’s face. “You’re claiming you basically time traveled, twice might I add, woke up in a future you don’t remember, and are now questioning our entire lives. So, yeah, it’s a little fucked up.” Before Richie could respond, Eddie pressed on, “Not entirely unbelievable, after all the shit we had to go through, but it’s fucked up you had to go through it.”

“I mean, some things came back,” Richie murmured, hunching his shoulders. “When I was looking at photos last night.”

“So, your memory isn’t totally gone. Just…” Eddie grasped around for the right word. “Muddled?”

“It’s a fucking mess, Eds.”

“What else is new with you?” Their eyes met and they shared a fond smile. Eddie’s smile fell a second later and he said, “I know you’re confused, and you’re trying to sift through two separate timelines’ worth of memories, but I promise this one is real.”

“I want to believe that so much,” Richie whispered staring at his hands wrapped around Eddie’s lone hand. “You don’t know how often I thought about moments like these; just you and me.”

“We have twenty years worth of moments like these.”

“You do.”

“And so do you. Somewhere up here.” Eddie poked his forehead with his index finger. “You said photos helped, right?”

Richie nodded.

“Okay, so, try Facebook. Hell, we can probably dig out our old albums and yearbooks if you want and see what you remember.”

Richie wrinkled his nose. “Early 90’s fashion.”

Eddie smiled, shaking his head. “Hey, I pulled it off.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.” Eddie reached over Richie, lifting the blanket enough to check the clock. “I have to get to work, but I can call in sick if you want me to stick around today.”

Richie almost asked him to stay, but he managed to shake his head. He released his hand, immediately missing the contact, and said, “Nah, you go and…” he squinted, tilting his head. “Are you wearing scrubs?” His eyes widened. “Did you become Doctor K after all?”

Eddie huffed, shaking his head. “No. I’m a pediatric nurse. I figured, the kid who grew up thinking he had everything might be able to help actual sick kids.”

“That’s. That’s sweet, Eds.”

“Yeah.” Eddie cleared his throat, pushing the blankets off of him and Richie, and sat up. “Alright, so I’m going to head out, but call me if you need anything. I swear. I will come straight home.”

“I’m not 12, Eds.”

“I know.” Eddie stood up, looking down at Richie with another unreadable expression. “You’re a time traveler apparently.” He leaned down, kissing Richie softly, and straightened up. “See you later tonight.” As he turned to leave, Richie caught his hand and pulled him back into a longer kiss.

When they broke apart, he grinned. “Been thinking about that, too.”

Eddie opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and kissed his forehead instead. He hesitated for a brief moment before straightening again and walking out of the room. He called over his shoulder, “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said it.

It felt nice.

* * *

Eventually, Richie convinced himself to get up. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, put his glasses on, and wandered around the bedroom, examining everything. Some dumb, hard to interpret artwork he knew Eddie picked out hung on the opposite wall from their bed. A crooked IKEA bookshelf they’d probably argued endlessly over leaned against the wall, barely supporting a few dozen books. A nice, most likely expensive mahogany dresser had a few more framed photos on it.

Eddie and Richie on vacation somewhere snowy, Eddie so bundled up he looked like Randy from The Christmas Story. Eddie and Richie sitting across from each other at a bar, empty shot glasses scattered across the table, totally ignoring the person taking their photo. Another group photo of the losers, this one taken very recently.

The walk-in closet looked mostly organized, but Richie could tell Eddie had given up. A few pairs of shoes laid on the floor, a couple pairs of jeans were folded haphazardly on one of the shelves. He’d finally done the impossible and managed to convince Eddie not everything had to be neat and tidy.

For the most part.

He stepped into the bathroom off their bedroom. The scent of Eddie’s soap and cologne lingered in the air, and Richie wrinkled his nose. The counter was a bit of a mess, but the toothpaste cap was firmly on the tube and the toothbrushes were neatly in their little cup. The hamper was overflowing, a wet towel hanging off the edge of the pile, and Richie made a mental note to do some laundry.

He walked out of the bedroom, his blanket trailing behind him, and headed down the hall. He checked his phone, sighing when he saw three missed calls from Steve. Even in this timeline, he still had the same manager. It’s something familiar.

Deciding to call him later, he brings up his Facebook page. More photos; a few messages from the losers. Bev and Ben were planning on coming to visit next month so he and Eddie could meet Abby. They had a daughter? Richie smiled. Bill and Audra were on their way to Europe to film another one of Bill’s movies. Mike tagged him and Eddie in some old photos he found while cleaning out his attic. And Stan.

Stan’s anniversary was coming up. He and Patty had been married 18 years. Along with his message, Stan posted some photos. He and Patty clutching each other, smiling brightly at the camera. An exact replica to the one hanging on Richie and Eddie’s wall. One of the whole gang, looking a little more put together than at Bev and Ben’s wedding, bunched up together.

He tagged Richie in a lone photo with the caption: _Remember this, Mickey Thomas?_

Richie was standing on the stage, microphone clutched in his hand, head thrown back and mouth open in mid-song. The memory itself was fuzzy, and he started to suspect other Richie didn’t remember it much either, but he vaguely recalled drinking too many of Patty’s specialty drinks. During his best man speech, he spent the entire time singing some _Starship_ song to Eddie, and Ben had to practically carry him off the stage.

He shook his head, continuing to scroll down the page, but no more memories were triggered. He put his phone down, shuffling out of the kitchen and into the living room he had missed last night.

More IKEA bookshelves lined the far wall, these ones put together better than the one in their bedroom (Richie suspected they probably hired someone to put these ones together). A very comfortable looking blue sectional sofa faced a decent sized TV hanging from the wall. The entertainment center pretty much looked like any other household's; movies, game consoles, more books Richie knew he probably hadn’t read. There was a fireplace behind the couch with more photos hanging above it.

Richie walked over to it, studying the photos. He recognized Eddie’s mother right away, one of the few photos she’d willingly let anyone take, standing with Eddie on their front porch, her hand almost possessively clutching his shoulder. Richie curled his lip, looking away.

The others were of his parents. In the other timeline, his parents died years ago, and after wracking his brain he realized it was no different in this one either. It might be for the best; he didn’t need his mother asking him questions he could not answer. She’d probably insist on coming to visit.

He wandered back into the bedroom and moved towards the nightstand with the wedding rings. Eddie’s was gone, no doubt back on his finger. Richie reached out with trembling fingers, carefully picking up his ring.

He dropped the blanket, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and spun the ring between his thumbs and index fingers. He let it dance across his knuckles, the band cool against his skin. He almost made it down the aisle twice in the other timeline, he figured settling down would have helped him with a few of his deep seated issues, but he’d left both women at the altar. They never felt right, even when he had convinced himself that he was making the right decision, but now.

He put the ring on.

Now it felt right.

* * *

He did the laundry.

Eddie probably had a system where he separated everything into groups, but Richie just dumped everything in the washer. _It’ll all get clean_, he figured as he added soap and turned it on.

_Probably._

While he looked around for the photo albums, he called Steve but his voicemail picked up. He didn’t leave a message. He tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t tell Eddie he and Stan had died. It’s not a big deal, they’re clearly not dead anymore, but he felt a little guilty. Was that information Eddie needed to know?

“Fuck no,” he said out loud, gritting his teeth. He didn’t even want to know, what made him think Eddied wanted to know?

In addition to that constant reminder, Richie had to fight down the random bouts of anxiety he felt every time he wondered once again if this reality was even real. He held onto Eddie’s reassuring words like a life preserver, continuously reminding himself that this was the right timeline. He wasn’t stuck in one of Pennywise’s traps. They killed It and they didn’t need to worry anymore.

Eddie called him around eleven to check in. Richie could tell he didn’t believe him when he said everything was good, but he kept up the ruse until they ended their call. He was already worried, might as well dig the hole even deeper.

He eventually found the albums buried in the hall closet. Richie dug out the box, carrying it back to the living room, and set it on the floor. He sat down cross legged next to it, leaning his back against the couch, but didn’t open it right away.

He twisted the ring on his finger, staring at the box. He could do this; it’s just a box. _Open it_, he told himself. _Open it, coward. Open it._

“This is real,” he whispered to himself, reaching his shaking hand out to open the box. “This is real. This is real.”

Inside were six photo albums and a pile of yearbooks. One by one, he pulled them out and laid them in front of him, brushing his fingertips across each cover. When the box was empty, he pushed it aside and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

Where to start?

He picked up the closest yearbook, opening the cover. It’s Eddie’s, his name scrawled at the top in faded green marker. He quickly flipped through it, seeking out the losers. From their bad photos, he surmised they must be freshmen, in the throes of puberty. He’s surprised to see Beverly was missing, but a memory fluttered to the surface. She’d moved to Portland to live with her aunt, finally escaping her father.

She wrote to them as often as she possibly could, the town allowing her to remember the losers this time, and came to visit during the summers. She never stayed with her father, her aunt getting them a hotel room, and as far as Richie knew she had cut off all ties to the man until he died fifteen years ago. And even then, she made quick arrangements for his funeral, and she and Ben spent as little time as they possibly could going through his things.

_Good riddance_, he thought. The man deserved to die alone.

He flipped through every high school yearbook, cringing at the photos, but only received a few more hazy memories for his troubles. He moved onto Eddie’s college yearbooks, unconcerned when he saw he didn’t have any. He’d barely finished college in the other timeline, school never holding his interest, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the same in this one.

Nothing was triggered from them, and Richie set all of the yearbooks to the side. He looked down at the albums, resting his chin on his fists. He studied each cover. Two were dark blue, one a bright white, one purple. The last one was black and that was the one he picked.

He pulled it into his lap, carefully opening the cover, and stared at the first page. It’s the first photo he and Eddie had ever taken together. They had to be four, maybe five, and Richie had been so excited to show his mom his new friend. They hadn’t known about Mrs. Kaspbrak until Richie’s mother had snapped the photo.

_“What are you doing with my son?” she had demanded, pulling Eddie away from Richie._

_“Oh, you must be Eddie’s mother. I’m…”_

_“I said, what are you doing with my son?”_

_Richie’s mother had frowned, lowering her camera. She reached for Richie, grabbing his hand, and pulled him behind her, squaring her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes and said, “My son wanted a photo with his new friend.”_

_“New friend? Eddie doesn’t have friends.”_

_“Yeah he does,” Richie had piped up, rushing out from behind his mother’s leg. “I’m your friend, right Eds?”_

_Eddie, who had made it quite clear he didn’t like being called Eds, tensed up at the sudden attention, but when Richie gave him a reassuring smile he let out a shaky breath and whispered, “He’s my friend, Mommy.”_

They’d been friends ever since.

Richie pulled the photo free from the album and looked at it. They were so small, grinning wide at the camera, hugging each other. Richie remembered he’d lost his front tooth the night before and had brought it to school to show Eddie. He knew Stan wouldn’t have been impressed, but he wanted Eddie to see it. He cared what Eddie thought, even if he didn’t understand why at the time.

Five year old him had been far braver than 40 year old him.

He put the photo back and continued to flip through the album.

Most of the photos in this album were of Richie when he’d been a baby, but a few featured Stan and Eddie. Towards the back he found some with Bill. For a long time it’d just been them, the four Musketeers. The original Losers’ Club. It was interesting how they never felt complete until they met Mike, Ben, and Beverly.

The next album had to be from their college years. The Losers more prominent in this one than the last. These photos triggered more memories, quick flashes he’d sift through later. He found, the more he remembered of this timeline, the less he was remembering from the other one, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that information.

One photo, featuring a grainy Eddie sitting at his desk, listening to a Walkman, caught his attention and Richie pulled it free, studying it.

_“I can’t believe you’re dropping out of college,” Eddie exclaimed, pacing across his dorm room floor, his headphones resting on his shoulders. “After everything Stan and I did to get you accepted.”_

_“Eds, school isn’t for me,” Richie responded, sitting with his back against the headboard of Eddie’s bed, Ben’s old camera lying in his lap. At least he’ll have one good photo of Eddie before he decided he never wanted to see him again. “You know this.”_

_“But aren’t you afraid you’re throwing away your future?” Eddie demanded, his hand waving near his face like it always did when he was agitated. “And what are you gonna do? Tell me, Rich, what job do you expect to get without a degree?”_

_“Eddie, listen, it’s my future to throw away.” Richie rolled off the bed, moving towards the door, shoving the camera in his coat pocket. “Besides, that degree bullshit isn’t going to do you any good if nobody is hiring. I’d be better off making my own path and hoping for the best.”_

_“Hoping for the best? Hoping for the best? Rich, since when does hoping for the best mean you’re going to be successful?”_

_Richie shrugged, reaching for the door knob. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to be successful. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe I just want to try something that doesn’t involve me wanting to rip my hair out.”_

_Eddie stayed silent._

_“Look, I’ll see you around, Eds. Call you when I get to California.”_

_He pulled the door open but before he could walk out Eddie grabbed his arm and pulled him into a tight hug. He clung to him, resting his forehead on his shoulder, and Richie hesitated for a brief moment before returning the hug._

_“If this is what you want, then I support you,” Eddie said still holding him. “But know that I think it’s a stupid idea.”_

_“Gotcha.”_

_Richie pulled back, his breath catching when he realized how close they were standing. He could do it. He could bend down and kiss him, it’d be so easy, but his ever present fears held him back. He should go before he fucked up._

_“Rich…” Eddie’s expression was hard to read. “I think…” He broke the hug and pushed himself up on his toes, cradling the sides of Richie’s face, and gently kissed him…_

Richie didn’t finish college, but he did stay another year. All because of that stupid, fucking kiss. Nineteen years of fearing who he was and of Eddie pushing him away if he ever found out, and they ended up making out on Stan’s bed.

Or trying to.

They’d been about as experienced as two closeted, small town boys could be, and they weren’t kiss compatible at the time. Richie recalled the taste of blood, his tooth catching Eddie’s lip, and they gave up and watched movies on Eddie’s black and white TV, cuddled up on Stan’s bed.

He replayed their first kiss again. Eddie had made the first move; Eddie had been the one to push for something more even if it meant making himself vulnerable. Even if it meant Richie possibly reacting in a way that was less than ideal. He did what both of them had been too afraid to do for so long.

Brave, reckless Eddie.

_“You’re braver than you think…”_

Richie closed the album and stood up, wiping his eyes. He had to check on the laundry.

* * *

Agitated, Richie cleaned the apartment. He wasn’t the cleanest person, Stan once compared his bedroom to blackhole while Eddie attacked it with Lysol while wearing a pair of his mother’s rubber gloves, but he knew how to mop a fucking floor.

Twice Steve tried calling him back, but he didn’t answer the phone. Eventually his manager was going to show up at his door, he’d done it dozens of times in the other timeline, but Richie knew he had a good day or two before he did; he’ll call him back later.

Stan texted him, asking if he had any photos from his wedding (apparently he was putting together a slideshow for Patty), but Richie hadn’t responded. He should really call Stanley, even if it was just to hear his voice, but he couldn’t do it.

He was a coward.

When Eddie returned home, Richie was aggressively cleaning dishes. He stopped in the doorway, his arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and just stared at him.

“Yes dear?” Richie said, just a bit of a bite in his tone.

“Scrub as hard as you want, that plate ain’t turning a different color,” Eddie retorted. “Good day?”

“Oh, you know me. Everyday is good.” _Probably_, Richie added internally, shutting the faucet off. He dried his hands on the dish towel, tossed it back on the counter, and turned to look at Eddie’s worried gaze. He sighed, “Eds, I’m…”

“Don’t say you’re fine because it’s bullshit.” He shut the door and walked across the room, stopping right in front of Richie. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What…?”

“I can read you better than anyone and you’re keeping something from me. So spill it.” He waited, but when Richie didn’t respond he let out a frustrated breath. “You’re cleaning the apartment. The last time you cleaned anything willingly was the night before you came out to your parents. I will admit, you’ve probably picked up the stress cleaning thing from me, but still. It’s a tell.” He reached out and grabbed Richie’s hands. “So, tell me what’s stressing you out? Unless this is about the timeline stuff. Rich, I swear, this is real.”

He pulled Richie’s right hand towards him, resting it against his chest. His heart beat against his open palm, a steady rhythm. “This is real, okay? I am real. You are real. And yeah, your memories are muddled right now, but they’ll all come back. Okay?”

Slowly, Richie nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie dropped their hands from his chest but didn’t let Richie go. “And if there’s anything else. Anything. You can tell me.” He gave Richie a reassuring smile, squeezing his hands. “Is there anything else?”

He should lie. He should tell Eddie everything was good and it’s only the timeline stuff that’s bothering him. Eddie didn’t need to know the other stuff. It wasn’t fair to him, and it made no difference. He’s alive now. In this timeline he was completely fine.

Richie should just let this all go.

“There’s one more thing.”

But he didn’t want to lie to Eddie.

He never wanted to lie to Eddie.

* * *

He told him the rest.

Afterward, Eddie paced furiously across the kitchen floor, stepping over Richie’s outstretched legs from his slumped position on the floor. He’s muttering under his breath, but it’s unintelligible.

Eventually, he slowed down enough to speak.

“You’re telling me. You’re telling me that motherfucker broke my arm and then fucking murdered me. That It was responsible for Stan…” he curled his hands into fists. “That motherfucker.” He trailed off into more muttering, accidentally kicking Richie’s foot.

“Eds…”

“No, I’m not done. I’m glad It’s dead. Fuck that thing. Fuck it. If I could kill It again I would.”

His heart clenching, Richie swallowed heavily. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

Eddie stopped, looking down at him, and his expression softened slightly. “That’s not…” He sighed, moving across the room to sink down to the floor next to Richie. He pulled his knees to his chest, glaring at the wall. “Motherfucker.”

“You saved my life,” Richie murmured, pulling his own knees up to mirror Eddie. “If that helps any.” It didn’t, at least not to Richie, but he figured it might make Eddie feel better.

Eddie snorted. “And time traveling apparently saved mine and Stan’s,” he muttered shaking his head.

“Are you mad I told you?”

Eddie mulled over the answer before shrugging. “I don’t know, Rich.” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “A little,” he admitted. “Not at you, not really, but at the circumstances.” He shook his head again. “It fucking impaled me?”

Unable to speak, Richie nodded.

“And Stan…?” he trailed off.

Richie nodded again.

“Fuck.”

Eddie leaned over, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder, and Richie hesitated for a few seconds before resting his head on top of Eddie’s. A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.

“Should we tell the others?” he asked carefully.

Eddie heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. How do we even begin to explain it? Derry or some other shit forced Richie to time travel, saving mine and Stan’s life in the process, and now he’s trying to play catch up?” He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Richie nodded, reaching out to rest his hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie placed his own hand on top of his, his very warm, very real hand, and together they sat on the floor until it became too dark for them to see without a light.

When they eventually stood up, pins and needles darting down their legs, Eddie turned the light on and the two began making dinner. Halfway through, Richie’s phone buzzed against the counter. They stopped, staring at it for a long few seconds before Eddie crossed the room to pick it up.

“Hey Stan!” he answered, keeping his voice calm. “How are you?” He nodded, smiling, and said, “That’s great. You looking for Richie?” He nodded again. “I’ll get him.” He held the phone out to Richie and waited.

_I’ll tell him you’re busy if you need me to_, his expression said.

Richie shook his head.

He took the phone.

“Hey Stan,” he said hoarsely.

“Richie, how are you?”


	2. BONUS SCENE

In college, Patty and her friends used to go down to the bar every Friday night and order the house special. It was a fruity drink that had a habit of sneaking up on them. Patty told Stan she’d had too many the first time and spent the entire weekend in the bathroom.

He’d been joking when he suggested they serve the drink at their wedding.

He’s regretting that decision now.

The losers were never stupid. They knew Richie and Eddie were something. Even back in junior high when they were still trying to figure out who they were (on top of killing an alien clown thing), and the fear of being seen differently hung over them, they knew. They never said anything (that had been Richie and Eddie’s deal to figure out), but they waited.

When they finally told the losers they were dating, Stan couldn’t help thinking _FINALLY_. Finally they got their shit together, or as much as Eddie and Richie could, and took a step towards something.

Something more.

Something like what he and Patty had. What Ben and Bev had. What he hoped Bill and Mike could find at some point down the line.

He was very, very happy for his friends.

But right now he wanted to kill Richie Tozier.

“_I’m so glad I found you. I’m not gonna lose you. Whatever it takes, I will stay here with yooooooou_,” Richie belted out, pointing at a red faced Eddie, his head buried in his hands.

He didn’t know all of the lyrics, but what Richie knew he sang passionately. Stan wished he would stop, but he couldn’t help taking a picture with one of the disposable cameras.

For the memories of course.

He saw Eddie push Ben towards the stage, and he hurried forward. He and Richie fought over the microphone for a moment before Ben managed to wrench it out of his hand. He dropped it, throwing Richie over his shoulder, and carried him off the stage.

“Let’s get married, Eds!” Richie yelled and Eddie’s face turned an even brighter red as he ran after them.

Stan shook his head and rushed towards the stage to announce Patty’s maid of honor, hoping to salvage the situation. He made a mental note to send the newly engaged couple a bottle of wine.


End file.
